


Dust and Mud

by johnathang



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnathang/pseuds/johnathang
Summary: It's a Saturday night that Dell wouldn't miss for the world- riding in the local rodeo- something that's become so routine he could probably do it with his eyes closed. There's a stranger, though, a new guy who might just be the worst damn clown that the sport has ever seen.
Relationships: Engineer/Soldier (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	Dust and Mud

_The overhead lights, blue and blinding. The roar of the crowd, and the thundering of boots on aluminium bleachers. The clock on display below the announcer’s booth, counting the longest eight seconds on the planet._

Just an hour before showtime, the arena looks foreign in its emptiness. 

Dell always prefers coming in through the front door, even if most of the other employees use the side entrance. The longer walk gives him the opportunity to _think_ , anticipate the coming crowd and the excitement of the night. It takes up the shape of butterflies in the top of his stomach, even after so many years. He falls into his usual meandering path; waves to the woman behind the bar and accepts the bottle of water handed to him, nods to the guys checking the stubborn old lights, and the few others going about their work, like a reliable, steady machine. There’s an undercurrent of electricity, though, like there’s a beehive nestled somewhere within that same machine, because everyone knows precisely what is to come. The paramedics sitting and chatting at the top of the bleachers make that abundantly clear. 

Exactly on time, right as he passes the first gate at the end of the ring, the dull thud of hooves make it to his ears.

“Well _bless your little heart_ \-- and here I thought you were takin’ another week off.” A woman’s voice follows the snort of her horse, a pretty little palomino with a temperament echoing its rider. As if in sync, they tilt their heads in a gesture that might read as _sweet_ to anyone else. To Dell, the first word that comes to mind is something along the lines of _firecracker._

“Good to see you _too_ , Annie.” He scoffs without any of the venom, a genuine grin growing on his face as she adjusts her horse’s pace to walk next to him. “You know me, though, ain’t got anything better to do on weekends.” He sighs, eyes falling to the flashy rhinestones adorning the arm of her red shirt. She looks good tonight, blonde hair tucked away behind a yellow dotted bandana, freckles on display beneath the lighting, and brown eyes glowing. He’s excited to see her race around the ring, flag waving behind her. 

It’s her turn to scoff, but this time in exasperation. She rolls her eyes to really sell it. “That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think?” Despite her smile, her concern is obvious-- at least to him. They both know it’s a borderline addiction. “How’re them ribs of yours?” 

He offers a shrug of his shoulder, and a gentle shake of his head. “Doc would probably strangle me if he knew I was riding tonight,” he doesn’t miss the pointed s _tare_ she fixes on him, “but I’m feelin’ better, I promise.” The memory rings in clear from the back of his mind, the _weight_ of the animal trying its best to pummel him, and the unrelenting metal gate pressed against his back. He got off _lucky_ , he knows, a concussion and a cracked rib are minor in the grand scheme of things-- easily taken care of. He’s seen worse in his time, much worse.

“Just be careful, alright?” She asks, and her smile turns a touch sad. “I know it's impossible to do that here, but don’t push it tonight.” She has a talent of sounding like a best friend, and an older sister at the same time. Dell finds it impossible to argue with her.

“I’ll try my best, hun.” He looks up at her with a smile, one of his soft, reassuring ones that he always gives kids when they catch him climbing out of the ring with a bloodied nose. She doesn’t look like she buys it, simply because she’s known him for far too long for it to fool her anymore. 

They both stop once they reach the end of the fencing. Dell takes in the sight of it all over his shoulder, thoughts wandering to whether or not his painkillers are still stashed underneath the seat of his truck, until an unfamiliar face catches his eye. 

At the same time, Annie looks up at the call of her name. She glances back down at Dell after a beat. “Gotta vacate the ring,” she smirks, a look of… _something_ in her eyes, “they’re running a new fighter through the wringer-- I’ll come and meet you on the bleachers in the next few.” She doesn’t say anything else as she clicks her tongue, and promptly trots in the direction of the cattle chute, presumably to hitch her horse out back. 

Dell watches the others in the ring for a moment longer. Walking towards the center at a relaxed pace is the boss man-- retired rider himself and tough enough to prove it-- and what can only be the new guy. He’s tall, wide in his shoulders, and carrying himself like he’s bracing to get shot for... some reason. It’s clear that he’s somewhere in his late thirties, with short brown hair, and what looks like the stubble of a few missed days of shaving on his jaw. The distance doesn’t let Dell gather much more, aside from his outfit; a loose fitting red button up, and a pair of pants purposely a size too big, held up by suspenders. No makeup yet, apparently. He can pick up on the bits and pieces of their one sided conversation as he takes a few steps back, and sits on the bleachers. 

The new guy doesn’t appear to be much of a talker, and when he does open his mouth, it’s with a nod and a sharp bark of _yes._ In the back of his mind, Dell figures that it reminds him of a kid’s first day at boot camp. Odd. 

They both take a few steps away from each other, as the irritable grunt of a steer sounds from the chute. Belatedly, Dell realizes that it _is_ strange that they chose tonight to break in a new clown, knowing that the doors open in an hour-- they must be down more people than he first thought. The bull trots out from behind the gate, an older one by the name of Snake Eyes that still comes with a temper, but _probably_ won’t go as far as to kill whatever unlucky bastard ends up underneath him. Watching intently, Dell uncaps his water blindly and raises it towards his mouth just as old Snake catches sight of the two standing in his path. 

He’s halfway through a sip when he chokes in shock, because the boss takes off running towards the side like he’s supposed to, but the new guy plants both his feet in the dirt, rears his arm back, and _socks_ the bull right on the top of his head. Dell fumbles to catch the bottle that nearly slips right from his hand, all while watching as the poor son of a bitch gets promptly hooked, and tossed over Snake’s flank like he weighs nothing. He hits the dirt with a _thud_ , flat on his back, and Dell thinks _this is it_ \-- head racing with images of the last time someone got flipped-- until the boss yanks on the steer’s tail, and gets his attention. It’s just long enough for the new guy to scramble to his knees, and get some distance between himself and fifteen hundred pounds of muscle. After a beat and some encouragement, the old bull trots back in the direction of the chute-- apparently done himself-- and leaves the two men in the ring. 

At some point Annie must’ve finally made her way over, because he’s still staring in shock when she speaks up from where she’s standing beside him. “ _Jesus Christ_.” She murmurs, and Dell doesn’t even need to look at her to know they likely have the same facial expression. 

“What in the hell was _that?_ ” The boss appears just as flabbergasted, and his face looks a touch white. 

_“Who is that?_ ” Dell asks, tuning out the rest of their conversation to watch as the man rises to his feet, and proceeds to dust off his knees and the seat of his pants. 

Annie takes his water from his hand, still watching as well. “Paul told me his name is _Jane--_ I thought he was joking, but I don’t know for sure-- you know how he is.” She nudges it back into his fingers after taking a sip, and swallows. 

“Go and sit at the bar for a few minutes-- just to make sure nothing got knocked loose.” Paul still looks out of breath, although Dell can’t blame him. There’s a very thin line between getting paid, and ending up in a casket. They both watch as the man-- _Jane (?)_ \-- nods obediently, and crosses the ring towards said bar, shoulders still squared, and chin held up. 

“Hell-- do you think he took the job _bullfighter_ literally?” Dell closes his bottle of water, trying not to make it obvious that he _is_ still staring. “I thought they still put clown next to it in parenthesis.” 

Annie smirks up at him. “You could go and ask him.” She offers, that _glint_ back in her pretty brown eyes. “He’s gonna be protecting your ass tonight-- might as well get to know your guardian angel.” 

As she slaps him on the back once, laughter laced in her voice, the only thing Dell can manage is a very quiet, murmured. “Oh _god_.” 

In Dell’s defense, perhaps anyone would be unsure how to start a conversation with a complete stranger who, just prior, had tried to beat a pissed off and _charging_ bull into submission. He settles for watching him from a distance at first, leaning on the fence, and taking in the muscular curve of the back facing him. He accepts a plastic cup of water from the same woman Dell had greeted before, and thanks her with a curt nod. He doesn’t _look_ hurt, but Dell’s hit the ground enough in the same way to know that come tomorrow morning, he’ll be just a touch stiff, and mapping bruises along his hip. 

After another moment, he finally approaches, walking slowly enough that the other man can no doubt hear him coming. The sound of boots on concrete is unmistakable, and so is the soft jingle of well used spurs. Despite it, he doesn’t turn or look up from his drink, even as Dell leans on the bar a healthy arm’s length away. He risks a glance at him from the corner of his eye, and finds him rubbing absentmindedly at his jaw, as if it’s sore and the bruise just hasn’t decided to show yet.

Dell coughs softly, more out of uncertainty than any real need to clear his throat. “Usually I know everybody pretty well, but I’m figurin’ you must be new.” He says, thumbing the knicks and dents on the edge of the wooden bar. “Paul decided to test you out last minute, huh?” He offers a smile, perhaps a touch sympathetic, but warm. 

The stranger finally looks up, his blue eyes centering on Dell’s chin, before his shoulders seem to lower an inch, and that tension in his brow loosens. “Yes.” He replies, short and sharp, but like he doesn’t know what else to possibly say. Come to think of it, the man’s entire demeanour radiates an air of uncertainty, as if this kind of human interaction always makes him feel at odds.

“I’m Dell,” he sticks out his hand expectantly, still smiling and trying for something a little more friendly, “...I’m one of the riders you’ll be watching out for tonight.” The other man perks up at that, and accepts his hand shortly after. 

“Jane,” he replies, still curt, “Jane Doe.” 

That scowl returns to his brow, like he’s counting on Dell to laugh, or call his bluff, or… something. Paul wasn’t kidding after all, it seems, despite how much the man likes to consider himself a comedian. “Pleasure to meet you,” is all he says, and he watches that defensiveness slip off of Jane’s shoulders like water off a duck’s back. 

He _almost_ looks surprised, before something else crosses his features-- an errant thought, maybe-- and he grumbles something under his breath. “Do you have a mirror?” He asks, back to his usual growl. 

“Pardon?” Dell asks, raising his eyebrow curiously.

“...Makeup.” Jane grunts, his expression turning undeniably sour. 

Dell cannot help the little chuckle of realization that leaps from his throat, but thankfully Jane doesn’t look too particularly offended by it. He takes another sip from his water, before pushing off the bar to stand at his full height. Jane is still a hair taller than him, even while sitting, he notes. “I’ve never been an artsy guy,” he smiles, “but I can go fetch Tammy for you and she’ll fix you up in the bathroom.” 

Jane, for some reason, ends up wordlessly following him. On their little trip, Dell explains this and that-- because while Jane has _some_ of an idea of what everything is, it’s clear that he’s never stepped foot in a rodeo before, let alone worked in one. He’s quiet while Dell talks, attention rapt, eyes that of a hawk’s even as he’s led to the employee’s restroom and sat on the toilet lid while cheap halloween makeup is sponged onto his face. Dell watches from the doorway, listening as new voices come in and the arena slowly fills with life and laughter. 

Tonight is going to be good, he can feel it, especially when Jane looks up at him-- all situated in his ridiculous uniform and ready to go-- and nods his head once, as if reassuring Dell that he _won’t_ let him be trampled to death. And Dell believes him. 

He still believes him an hour later, sitting on the edge of the chute, and looking down at the annoyed bull he’s meant to ride. A few others have gone before him already, the bleachers have filled in, and the petite building is almost at capacity. Given how little there is to do in Bee Cave, he supposes that watching a bunch of idiots get tossed around for prize money is the next best thing to whatever is on TV. Annie is still on her horse in the ring, doing her job as beautifully as ever, and Jane himself _seems_ to be getting the hang of it. He doesn’t try to… right hook anymore of the animals, at the very least, and gets out of the way when he absolutely needs to. Dell can’t tell if he likes flirting with death, or just has terrible timing. Either way, he can see him out of the corner of his eye as he takes a breath, and climbs over the fence to sit down on the steer.

_Another breath, and his ribs don’t ache as badly as they probably will later tonight in bed. Hand the whip over so it can be wrapped twice around his left hand- his only hand. Adjust, breathe for a second where his focus narrows down to his own heartbeat... give the nod._

Dell wasn’t ever really sure what attracted him to riding in rodeos-- _still_ isn’t sure. The prize money certainly helps pay bills when fixing appliances can’t, and the high of the adrenaline is a fun, nice sensation while it lasts, but he never can pin down _what_ it is that makes him keep coming back. Habit? No, not in the same way he smokes-- although probably just as deadly. Fame? Definitely not, if he wanted to be famous, he’d be on the moon by now and sporting a NASA logo on his suit. He has the brains for it, he knows, if he can keep them intact after a few more rounds. Maybe it’s the feeling of _not_ being in control, not knowing exactly how things will turn out. Math can’t tell him whether or not he’ll make it the eight seconds. 

Between the lights, and the music, and the sounds of the people watching, it’s almost impossible to do something as simple as count in his own head. Normally he can tune it out, but tonight for some reason, the numbers are replaced instead with a face. Jane, before slathering on an uncomfortable amount of makeup, with his blue eyes and the lines of his brow drawn in a permanent, stern expression. The adrenaline racing through him from head to toe means he doesn’t even feel himself losing his balance until he’s fully unseated, and flailing to grab ahold of whatever he can. The rope slips against the palm of his hand, just a second too quick for him to grab, and all in an instant he sees the back of the bull, the ceiling of the arena, and then the dirt as he lands squarely on his shoulder; legs still in the air as the animal plants it’s two front hooves, and _turns_ at the sound of the buzzer announcing the passage of eight long seconds _._

Instinct means that he tries to scramble backwards, boots kicking at the dirt as he attempts to move away, but base level evolutionary _fear_ keeps him from getting any footing. In the end, he’s still on his ass, and staring directly into the eyes of an animal that still operates on old west justice. Until, like some kind of… _angel_ , Jane is silhouetted by those same bright lights as he literally leaps into action, and wraps his arms around the bull’s neck in something that looks like a chokehold. He doesn’t stay in that position for long, of course-- he gets tossed to the side exactly like he had earlier-- but it’s enough for the steer to lose all focus on Dell, and let him escape to the safety of the gate. He doesn’t turn to look back until he’s seated atop it, gasping for breath, and resting what’s left of his arm against a particularly sore spot along his ribs. 

Jane is there in the ring, still in one piece and looking directly back at him from beneath that comically large helmet that Paul had jokingly handed him just before the first round started. Dell nods, hesitantly at first, as if saying _you crazy son of a bitch, you really did mean it_. 

Jane just smiles, and Dell finds that he looks _good_ when he loses that scowl. 

* * *

Showing up early to work has its benefits. For one, he gets to socialize with all his coworkers, and other competitors, before the entire property becomes overrun with half of Bee Cave’s population. For two, he gets free drinks, because he helped fix Tammy’s washing machine at half price. And for number _three_ , Jane has an endearing habit of showing up early as _well,_ and seeking him out. So Dell let’s him in on his deal with the free beer, and the two get perhaps a little more inebriated just before work than they should be. It’s fine, though, because they can both still walk in a straight line, and as long as Dell can hang on, and Jane can haul ass, they’ve still got all their bases covered. 

“So I’ve gotta’ know,” Dell takes a sip of his beer, lounging comfortably against the bar. There’s still a twinge of pain now and again from his ribs, but considering that he wasn’t flattened like a pancake just a few weeks earlier, they’re healing beautifully. He definitely has Jane to thank for that. “Where are you from?” He can’t exactly _pin_ Jane down, because one moment he acts one way, and then in another his mannerisms shift just enough to throw him off. It’d be frustrating if Dell wasn’t so fascinated with him. He has an _idea_ , maybe somewhere rural and with enough boredom to kickstart a wildcard personality early in childhood.

“Iowa,” Jane replies, idly spinning his helmet-- everyone had said how well it fit him and he’d eventually just claimed it for his own-- against the surface of the bar, “on a little farm in 1935.” He doesn’t look up as he speaks, as if hesitant to even give the information away.

“No kidding,” Dell chuckles, “I figured something like that.” He finishes the last of his beer, and briefly wonders what his grandpappy would think if he could see him now, on the verge of tipsy and about to toe the line with death as per usual. Poor old man, rolling in his grave, no doubt. “It’s always been Bee Cave for me, for thirty-five _long_ years.” 

As the arena comes to life around them, Dell can’t bring himself to do his usual rounds and leave Jane alone at the bar. Time slips, until Annie rides out into the ring right on schedule, spares them both a pointed glance, and rolls her eyes in amused exasperation. The paramedics take the place on the bleachers, getting ready for the night, and the rest of the staff fall into their routines like normal; moving easily around the pair. In that time though, Dell learns a little bit about his new, unlikely companion through easy chatter over the empty bottle by his hand. Jane is thirty-seven, six feet even, his last name is Doe (odd, just like his first name) and at some point he was discharged from the military for reasons he keeps vague. But he insists that it wasn't dishonorable, despite Dell never assuming otherwise. 

Dell doesn't have much in the way of adventurous stories like Jane, but he tries to keep it tic for tac. Last name Conagher, five foot four-- but more than capable of fending for himself-- and reveals that his first jaunt on the back of a bull was a rebellious phase that got out of hand. Jane laughs at that, a sharp bark, when Dell recounts how he'd given up on furthering his education to get stomped on by animals ten times his size. He still works in the shop with his father, as a kind of peace offering, but he isn't exactly on the lunar surface. 

"Grandpappy Radigan never said anything outright, but he went to his grave pissed, I'm sure." Dell chuckles to himself.

Jane snorts. " _Expectations,"_ he says the word like it's poison against his tongue, "who needs them." 

_Well put_ , Dell thinks to himself. A soft, accidental nudge against his shoulder from a stranger, and the sound of the loudspeakers welcoming the crowd make him look up in shock. The arena is full, people are mulling about, and _hell,_ they already have the horses in the ring for the start of the show. 

"Shit." Dell hisses. 

Jane looks just as stunned, and _without makeup_ . " _Shit_." Dell repeats, but with a disbelieving laugh. He pushes away from the bar, and starts off towards the cattle chute in a jog. He pauses, briefly, half turned to glance over his shoulder at Jane, who looks like he's about to bolt for the fence. 

"See you on the dirt, _hotshot_." Dell calls, offering a haphazard salute with a little grin to boot. 

Jane just stares, and even once he turns to keep moving, he feels blue eyes on his back.

* * *

Their little system works out alright. Dell gets Jane free beer and nachos from the bar, and Jane keeps trying to body slam the bulls to keep Dell safe. Annie teases Dell about how it's very apt he's chosen to spend his time with a clown, and Paul just gives up on trying to get Jane not to wrestle the animals. All of Bee Cave collectively seems to adopt Jane as their dysfunctional little mascot, while said man seems to be none the wiser. Dell cannot blame the rest of the population, because he himself has somehow or another been captivated by the charm Jane doesn't even realize he has. 

It hits him while he's sitting in his truck after another long Saturday night-- sore and exhausted and _starving_ \-- that thought of leaning over and kissing Jane. It comes so suddenly that Dell physically recoils as if he's been shocked. 

_...What?_

It isn't that he's afraid of kissing other men-- he crossed _that_ bridge awhile ago-- but _Jane?_ He hardly knows the guy! He just has the very basics on _who_ he is, it doesn't matter that he's tall, and handsome in a worn way; or that his eyes are like two twin cut outs of the sky, with a jawline of stubble that would feel... so _right_ to kiss. What would it be like? Everything about him suggests that he'd lead, no questions asked, but Dell himself isn't one to be manhandled. The thoughts in his head feel like a stampede, until he's beet red and staring out the windshield of his truck, and his knuckles are white from the grip he has on the wheel.

Christ almighty. 

He goes home, takes his pain killers, and picks through his leftover mexican food before settling into bed to _try_ and not dream about him. He only half succeeds. 

The week between them makes it harder, he thinks, because at work he finds his mind drifting and settling on Jane. What does he do from Monday to Saturday? Does he live in town? It's small, Dell should've seen him out and about by now, it's been almost two months since they met. He wonders if Jane would want to get lunch with him, and before he can shut that thought down, repeatedly drops the bolt he's actively trying to put back onto a car. It's particularly annoying, because he's wedged under it and has to reach around blindly. 

No one says anything, thankfully, about his cursing and groaning. 

The next night they meet, Dell realizes that he has no idea how to ask Jane out on what may as well be a date. He gives up the second he sees him, laughing and animatedly retelling a story to Tammy and Annie at the bar-- something about a trench and a fake grenade. They look simultaneously amused, and stunned. Jane doesn't see him for a while, his peripheral almost blocked completely by the helmet on his head, until Annie perks up and waves at him. Jane visibly straightens up, squares his shoulders, and waves as well. 

Ah, Hell. 

If he's more subdued that usual, he blames it on being anxious to ride the new stallion that's being brought in tonight. It isn’t often that he switches from bulls to broncos-- there’s totally different techniques specific to each-- but he’d nodded last week without giving it much thought. Jane either doesn't notice, or says nothing, going on and on about something nonsensical that he's passionate about-- old stories that are probably exaggerated, although Dell’s come to realize that he isn’t really _sure_ if they are. Jane’s just incredible like that. When they part ways at the fence, Dell offers him a chipper goodluck, like normal, and Jane just smiles in a way that suggests he doesn't need it. 

Everything's fine, run of the mill and totally routine, until Dell is on the stallion in the chute, and nodding for them to open the gate. Jane is there, hand on the rope to yank it open, staring up expectantly at him despite his eyes being mostly obscured from view. He can't remember the horse’s name, just that it's long winded and has the word _destiny_ in it. Jane doesn’t need to be glued to his hip this time around, it isn’t often that the stallions turn around for vengeance, but the man is stubborn. Part of Dell is… relieved, if he’s honest.

_Deep breath, take just a second. Jane is here._

_Jane is here._

Over the years, Dell has found that the whiplash earned from a bronco is a different kind of bad compared to what he gets from a bull. It’s quick, and sudden, and in your face instantly from the very second that the gate is open just enough for the stallion to spring out. It’s worth it though, for that _feeling_ in his gut, the chemical reaction at the base of his skull that leaves him buzzed for the rest of the night _._ The seconds tick by in the back of his mind, two to four, to six, until the buzzer sounds and he slaps his wrist back down to try and better manage his balance. 

It's then, right as he moves to leap off, that he realizes his boot is caught-- maybe the spur, or something, the rope looked a little loose when he first glanced down, he thinks. He tugs it once, and again, still stuck atop an animal that's given up on trying to throw him off, and is instead running at a full sprint. Annie is on her horse beside him, beckoning him to leap into the saddle with her, but all he can manage in the moment is a bark of, " _Stuck."_

His next thought is to just shimmy out of his boot altogether, and he's halfway through and almost free when he glances up, and sees Jane. He's planted his feet in the dirt, just like the first time, and visibly braced for impact. _Idiot._ Dell, sweating and with his heart racing at the thought of Jane being flattened because of some fool's errand of trying to 'save him', doubles his efforts. 

The distance is closing fast, Jane has a grimace that's slowly growing on his face because he _knows_ it's going to hurt, but stays regardless. God when this is over Dell is going to kill him himself--

And in a way that's almost _comical_ , Dell's foot _pops_ free of his boot and he lands right on his ass in the dirt. The horse keeps running, as if he doesn't even realize that he's free of the person on his back, and Dell watches with his heart in his throat as Jane sees him get free, blanks in slight panic, and leaps out of the way _just_ in time. His knee grazes the animal's hide, _that's_ how close he comes to being hit by a metaphorical train. 

The only thoughts in Dell's head narrow down to kissing Jane _right_ on the mouth, and then punching him in that same spot for scaring him so badly. He pushes himself to his feet, not even listening to his score, and awkwardly heads towards the fence in only one boot. He feels those eyes on him, though, the entire way. 

The rest of the night goes off without another hitch. Dell pockets a little bit of cash for being at the top of the scoreboard, he gets his boot back in one piece and only a little scuffed, and gets a pack of M&M's from Paul for almost ending up in the hospital again. The arena clears out, until the last trickle of spectators meander out the door. This time, on the excuse that he's tired and wants a shorter walk, Dell takes the employee exit near the back. Most everyone else has already left, aside from the unlucky few still cleaning, so Dell is rightfully surprised to see Jane still in the parking lot by the door. He nearly slams the door into him, even. 

"Shit, you--"

"Are you--" 

They both stop short. The yellow lamp above casts a warm glow over their little pocket in the corner of Bee Cave. Jane has his helmet under his arm, and a rag in his other hand. His face is half cleaned and smudged with the remainder of his makeup, and the rings of white around his eyes bring out the blue in them. He's staring expectantly, lips parted as if he wants to speak but someone has a hand around his neck, and the words are gummed up there. In that instant, where he looks oddly _vulnerable_ , Dell remembers how mad he still is. 

"You _dumbass,_ " he curses, and watches as Jane's eyebrows shoot up, "You nearly got yourself _killed_ in there earlier, with the whole goddamned town front and center to watch." He tucks his padded vest under his arm, and points an accusatory finger right at his chest. "Do you know what happens when you get run down by a bull, Jane?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "You end up in the hospital, with a concussion, three fractured ribs, whiplash, and the realization that you almost left behind _everybody_ that cares about you." 

Jane, to his credit, looks stunned for just a beat longer, before scowling. "I have not changed my strategy since I started working here," he growls, obviously angry but in a confused way, "why am I a dumbass _tonight_?" 

He's making an excellent point, and that makes Dell somehow more annoyed. "You only act like a fool when it's _me_ comin' out of the chute!" He argues, and watches as Jane _hesitates_ , and looks away. 

He looks awful cute, just beginning to fluster as those eyes search the old pavement for answers that he can't formulate on his own. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again despite no words leaving it at first. 

"You--"

He doesn't get much farther than that, because Dell gives up on pointing to instead grab a fisful of his dusty red shirt, and jerk him down to his level, and ultimately into a kiss. It isn't good in the conventional way, because their noses bump, and their teeth click, and Jane is stiff as a board against his lips. Alongside the rush of adrenaline, a pit forms in Dell's stomach and worry gnaws at his mind. What if Jane rears back and socks him right in the jaw? Worse, what if he does absolutely nothing, but avoids Dell for the rest of his life? 

Dell is already bruised and battered, but Jane doesn't add to it. Instead, almost _nervously_ , he tilts his head to better accompany the kiss, and _returns_ it. Dell is so shocked he almost breaks it altogether. And then he's dropping his vest from under his arm so he can throw it around Jane's neck, and Jane's own hands curl into fists as they grab his shirt to tug him closer. It's like every sore muscle and bone in Dell's body turns warm, and then promptly _blissfully_ numb, in the same way downing a bottle of expensive whiskey feels. It rolls in waves all the way down to his toes, until his lungs start to burn with what he recognizes as oxygen deprivation, and he regretfully pulls himself away to suck in a mouthful of air. 

Jane looks down at him, haggard and overwhelmed and _red_ , and just as breathless. 

"Oh _god."_ Dell breathes, taking in the sight. 

He's speechless, which isn't something that happens often, but thankfully Jane doesn't leave him to flounder for long. This time he leans down, _vulnerable_ , and softly presses their lips together a second time, as if he's some skittish animal hesitantly reaching out. All that adrenaline thundering through Dell's veins ceases almost immediately, and leaves him exhausted. He sighs into the kiss, arms still wrapped around Jane's neck, and further loses track of the time, and even the ground under his own two feet. 

Until the sound of voices finally reach the edge of his awareness, and he breaks the kiss just enough to murmur. "There's a grill and bar in town-- Davey's-- what do you think about lunch or supper?" The, _with me_ , goes unspoken. Their noses brush, and he has to fight the urge to lean in again so he can receive an answer. 

Jane just nods at first, until he swallows. "Yes," he agrees, "That would be alright."

On the ride home, dazed and with thoughts consumed by another, Dell finds that _this_ kind of rush has nothing on riding in that damned rodeo.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drive for forever and i originally was only going to share it with a few friends. posting it on a whim! just a silly little au i had cooked up several years ago and i only just now got around to doing anything with it :)


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